


The Grey Wanderers

by FromOrzammarWithLove



Series: The Deep Dwarves [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Deep Roads, Dwarves, Maleficarum, Sha-Lyuzar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromOrzammarWithLove/pseuds/FromOrzammarWithLove
Summary: An expedition of three Grey Wardens, sent out by the Warden-Commander, the famed Hero of Ferelden, to procure an important artifact from the deep roads, stumble upon the ruins of a lost dwarven kingdom. But something - or someone - is watching them from the shadows.





	The Grey Wanderers

Lyria was afraid.

She lay holed up in the warm, rich darkness, right beyond the place where the cavern curved, her thin body pressed against the cold stone. Her eyes were closed, as she listened to the faint singing of the Stone, that had grown a bit too quiet for her liking. It took severe focus on her part to remain perfectly still and listen. She clenched her hammer tightly in her fist. The singing from her weapon was in the same rhythm as the hum of the faint song of the Stone. She tried to focus on the melody, let it guide her heart, but it did not cleanse her from her fear. She was too far away.

She had climbed higher and ranged out further than any other ranger of her people. She had fought her way through the bad caverns, where the listeners of the foul song roamed freely and spread their filth. She had stalked and slain many of them and made sure not to taste their blood, lest she be corrupted, as she had learned many years ago. Their flesh was foul and poisonous, fatal to taste, so she had pressed further upward, creeping cautiously through dozens of unknown and unnamed caverns and tunnels. Some of them still showcased the splendour of the old empire, despite the filth of the foul listeners that roamed them. The carvings in the stone, the tall buildings and bridges that loomed over her head were silent reminders of what had been lost. Hearing stories of the old empire always made Lyria sad, but she was drawn to the ruined caverns her brethren had called thaigs and wished there had been time to linger. Alas, she was a scout and had a job. So she had pressed on and now found herself in this mess for it.

She was no coward. She was a ranger of her people, one of those bravest of the Sha-Lyuzar, who dared to walk in tunnels where none but the foul listeners had trod in centuries. Yet what she had found made her more afraid than she had been in years. So she lay silent in the darkness, and clutched her hammer, and thought, listening to the faint song of the Stone. Slowly her fear began to wane and she steeled herself, and dared to open her eyes. Quickly she shut them again.

The cave ahead was on fire.

Her eyes burned as though she had just thrown herself into the licking flames, so Lyria kept them shut. It wasn’t as if they would have been much of use to her, anyways. She was approaching her twentieth year and had felt her sight grow milkier and milkier over the past months. Soon she would only have the song and the Stone to rely on for orientation. She would adjust, she always had. Besides, in the dark it made no matter if her eyes could see or not.

Back where she had holed herself up, in the darkness beyond the bend of the cavern, the fire was not as bad. It still hurt the eyes to look at it, but the pain was not unbearable. She knew she would have to force her eyes to adjust to the glistening brightness in front of her, should she ever wish to study the cause of the fire, but for now she could not stand the light and the heat of the cave ahead, nor the uncertainty of what had caused the fire. She stirred slightly from where she lay. Her eyes still ached, but she had to get a quick glimpse. 

Beyond the curve in the cavern the fire was much brighter than where she had lain. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the heat of the flames and see dancing specks of light in front of her. Lyria opened her eyes again. Slowly this time, not all at once. Squinting.

The holes the fire had burned in her vision were still there. But they were fading. And soon she was able to look without hurting herself. This was her chance, she had to find out what happened in the cave ahead. She could not creep back. She was a ranger of her people, one of those bravest of the Sha-Lyuzar. She had a duty. She had never failed her people before, she would not fail them now. So she mustered all her courage and crept towards the fire.

* * *

“Look at these runes!”

Aurelia had gone from setting darkspawn aflame to examining the walls of the thaig within seconds. Nalvor and Cerion were still catching their breath. The mage’s voice was thick with admiration, as she studied the ancient runes on the wall. The small flame she had conjured from her hand threw shadows across her face, but they couldn’t hide her wide smile.

Cerion looked doubtful. Not just his face, but his whole body radiated doubt. The elf had been unusually quiet since they had entered the deep roads and the further they had ventured, the longer his silences had lasted. Nalvor suspected he was afraid of the layers upon layers of solid stone between them and the surface, but he hadn’t brought it up to Cerion. Nalvor quickly went about the singed corpses and collected the crossbow bolts from the bodies that hadn’t shattered on impact. “You shouldn’t use your inferno down here”, he scolded. “The air is still burning”. Aurelia had none of it. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nalvor. If the air were burning we’d all be dead”, she said without looking up.

“So, what about the runes?”, he asked. His words made the girl’s smile return. “They’re absolutely fascinating!”, she exclaimed. “How so?”, Nalvor asked.

“I can’t make out a single word!”.

“That is what you call good news?”, Cerion laughed, shaking his head in doubt.

Aurelia frowned slightly at her companion. “No, I mean it,” she said. The beam from her conjured fire sliced through the thick darkness. “Look, I’ve studied old dwarven tongues back at the Circle. I should be able to read these, but I can’t. That means these runes are old. So old, they might even predate the first blight.”

Cerion looked unimpressed, beneath his faded vallaslin, the warpaint of his people, his green eyes looked tired and expressionless. “I see,” he said without a drop of exitement. “So where’s the treasure, then?”. That made Aurelia frown oner more. “That is all you care about?”, she asked, only barely concealing her disappointment, and tucked a stray strand of her brown hair behind her ear. Nalvor thought the girl had a mousy look about herself, but she was not unpretty, he decided. Especially when she looked slightly upset. However he kept his thought to himself and continued his search for his bolts. 

Aurelia was not about to let the topic slide: “This whole place is a major historical find! I knew we were bound to find something, but I never imagined this! This could be Gundaar, or Hormak, one of the lost kingdoms. This is incredible! We could send scholars from Orzammar, from Val Royeaux, even Tevinter to study…”

“We have our orders, girl. Strict ones at that. Find the treasure, take it home, kill every darkspawn in our way. No studies, no dwarf-empires, no stupid runes. You aught to remember that, if you ever want to rise in our ranks”, Cerion interrupted.

“What’s so great about some old runes, anyway?” Nalvor asked, trying to keep the girl from insulting her superior. “It’s not like you could read them”. Aurelia looked sad, the light of her fire was burning on a much smaller flame. “I know people who could. We could find out about the lost kingdoms of your people. It would give us a much better picture about civilization before the blight and the darkspawn. Wouldn’t you want that?”

“We know what the old civilization was like,” Nalvor protested. “The Shaperate keeps all the information archived in Orzammar. They now all sorts of things.”

“Yes, maybe, but this is different,” Aurelia said. “This is reality. Untouched by the passage of time and warped history.” She ran her free hand lovingly along the carvings in the wall. “Look here,” she said. Nalvor moved closer. He could even feel Cerion’s eyes on them.

There was writing of a different sort carved into the wall. Scratched in, rather. It didn’t go very deep, but it could still be read, albeit faintly. It wasn’t in the same artistic style of the rest of the writing and lacked the finesse of the former. Maybe a crude scratching disagreeing with what had been carved in the thaig wall, maybe something else. Then he realized Aurelia was showing it to him, because she assumed he could read dwarvish. He felt his cheeks redden beneath his black beard. “I can’t read it”, he said, embarrassed.

Aurelia was grinning again. “Olvdan loves Sigrun,” she read out loud, tracing the words with her fingers.

Cerion shook his head. “Creators, girl,” he said, “you can find the same scratchings in every city in Orlais.” Aurelia rolled her eyes. “Ser,” she said, “if we found the oldest elvhen painting in the world, you’d probably say it was a lousy picture of a halla.” She jabbed at the carving with her free hand. “Don’t you understand? This is old. It’s history! It’s the remnants of a culture and a people that perished ages ago.” Her fingers brushed over the cruder writing next to the carving “And this here is written in a newer tongue. Olvdan and Sigrun are dwarven names. Those most have been wanderers, explorers like us, who passed right through here and left their mark.”

Cerion was not interested. He wandered away impatiently, his gaze darting here and there amidst the pitch-black ruins of the ancient thaig. “It is hot down here,” he complained. “You will do good to spare your inferno for the surface”.  
Aurelia rolled her eyes at Nalvor. That made the dwarf smile. “He means well”, he whispered apologetically, under his breath, lest Cerion overhear him. The girl didn’t bother to answer. “This is the biggest find of the expedition,” she said when she looked up at last. “I need to transcribe it. And get others down here.” She turned to address Cerion. “Ser, with your permission, I will take notes. The Warden-Commander will want to know what we’ve discovered down here.” The girl was insolent and didn’t respond well to orders, but her passion for her studies was without boundaries. Nalvor had grown fond of her, during the past weeks of wandering through darkspawn-infested thaigs.

Cerion looked at Aurelia long and hard, with those unflinching, green eyes, until finally he sighed and muttered: “Fine. Do what you must. I sense no more darkspawn near us. We shall set up camp here”.

The girl smiled. “Thank you, Ser. I apprechiate it.” She rummaged in the linen bag she had hung across her shoulder, over her circle robes, and brought forth a leather-bound notebook and a small piece of charcoal and began transcribing the runes on the wall.  
In the meantime Nalvor and Cerion made it their task to drag the charred bodies of the dead darkspawn together and pile them up in the far corner of the thaig. After that the sat down on the stone ground and examined their provisions. “There’s still plenty”, Nalvor said, counting the dried onions, roots and berries they had left. “Enough for a week at least”. “That’s not enough. We’d better find the artifact soon.”, Cerion said. “There’s some cheese left, too”, Nalvor said, further rummaging through the big provision pack he had carried on his back. “And some of the cured fish”. Cerion arranged three rations from the provisions. He gave Nalvor two small cured fish, a dried onion and a handful of dried roots, while saving Aurelia a slice of cheese, two dried onions and some berries. He himself only took a single dried onion and started nibbling on it absentmindedly, while he pulled out his map of the deep roads and studied it.

“You and the girl have been arguing the whole trip,” Nalvor said. “All the way from that cave-in. I don’t see that it’s done you much good.” 

“The child is a fool,” Cerion stated plainly, not raising his gaze from his map.

“I wouldn’t say so,” Nalvor said. “I’m a soldier, not a scholar… but I do think she has a point. If people were to study these thaigs, maybe it would teach us something about this place, give us an edge on the darkspawn. All these old things down here, they’re probably valuable to some folk. It could give us more funding.”

The elf sighed and stroked his forehead with his fingers. “That isn’t why we are here, Nalvor. We have job, the Warden-Commander needs us to succeed. I… I need us to succeed, as well.” And then Nalvor realized. He studied his companion’s face. Deep lines framed his features and he looked tired, with dark rings beneath his eyes. The wrinkles between his eyebrows and in the corners of his eyes and mouth seemed deeper than usual and the lithe stature seemed thinner. 

“The Calling.”, Nalvor whispered, perplexed. Nalvor, you stupid duster, you’re thick as a stone wall, he cursed himself. “Shh!”, the elf answered, gesturing towards Aurelia. “The girl doesn’t need to know”.

“How long?”, Nalvor asked.

“Not long, don’t worry. I can only feel it when I’m tired. It’s like a rhythm in the back of my mind, nothing more. I shall have many months yet. But we need to find this treasure, this… this artefact. Without it the Commander can’t help us”. 

Nalvor didn’t know what to say. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed sooner, shocked that his companion was already feeling the Calling, afraid for his own health.

“I… I’m sorry, Cerion. I really am.”

A faint smile rushed over the elf’s features. “Thank you, lethallin”, Cerion said and those green eyes found the concerned gaze of the dwarf.

* * *

Lyria stayed close to the cold stone wall, as she edged forward. It helped to hide her, and kept away the fire, so she moved in a little band of almost darkness. Pressing herself against it as best she could, she crept silently around the curve, and halted, making sure she was out hidden, before edging onward.

She was a ranger of the Sha-Lyuzar and had learned to watch. Watch with her eyes, but also with her ears and her nose and with the song of the Stone. Through it Lyria could make out what was happening in front of her, even when her other senses could not.  
There was another listener of the song of the Stone, though Lyria could hear his rhythm much fainter than those of her own people. Yet it was a listener nonetheless, a brother, a lost kin. The other two were unfamiliar and Lyria couldn’t make them out as clearly, not without looking.

And there were voices. She could hear them more clearly, now, that the fire didn’t burn as bright as it had before. She listened closely. The sounds she made out must be words. A language of some sort, it must be. Lyria knew the difference between the roars and grunts of animals and patterns of speech, but the voices were talking in a language she couldn’t understand. The sounds didn’t form any words she knew and she was lost trying to decode meaning from the tone of the voices. She was a ranger of her people, not a translator, nobody who studied the languages of the others.

She tried concentrating on the scent, but she couldn’t smell anything apart from the burnt flesh of the foul listeners the others had set aflame.

Lyria thought. Another listener and two others. And words, though spoken in a strange language. Were these the fabled sun-kissers from the stories? The tall creatures who rose to power when the empire of the lost brethren fell and the foul listeners arose? The tall ones who had strange powers and could bend the world around them to shape their will? The ones who would never hear the song of the Stone? Right here, in the old caverns within the ruins of the lost empire?

They had to be, there was no foul stench about them, no corruption or filth that would identify them as those foul listeners, though the Stone around them felt eerily similar to the foul ones, when Lyria listened to it. What if they were the fabled Grey Ones, those mighty warriors of the sun-kissed, who also fought the foul listeners and were allies of the Sha-Lyuzar in the past?

There was only one way to find out.

Lyria stirred. She moved slowly, sinking down to a crouching position to squint around the curve ahead and when her eyes had gotten used to the dim light of the tiny flames, she crept silently, hidden by the shadows of the cavern, closer to the others and watched.

* * *

When Aurelia hadn’t answered Nalvor’s third call to pick up her ration, he brought it over himself. The girl was so immersed in her work that she was startled when he tapped her on the shoulder to pass her the food. “Ooooo, cheese!”, she beamed at him as she put down her coal pencil and her journal and took her ration from Nalvor. “Thank you!”, she said. 

“Don’t thank me, that’s Cerion’s work”, the dwarf answered.

But the girl had already thrown the piece of cheese into her mouth and picked up her journal again, re-reading her transcription. She hadn’t even heard him.

Nalvor sat down with his back leaning against the stone wall, and landed with a thud. He looked at the pile of burnt bodies in the far end of the thaig. “I wonder how far dpwm we actually are”, he said, trying to involve the girl in some sort of conversation. Aurelia shrugged. “Difficult to say. Though I do know we’re in the lower levels. These thaigs are ancient.”

“Yes,” said Nalvor, shifting his gaze from the corpses to look around him, at the walls of the thaig. “Makes me sad, really”, he admitted.

His words made Aurelia look up. She closed her journal and placed it on the stone floor, laying the coal pencil on top. “Because of your people”, she said, her words sounding more matter-of-fact than question.

“Not because they were dwarves and I’m a dwarf!”, Nalvor insisted. “It’s just… the darkspawn just take so much. I… I don’t think we’ll ever be able to stop them”. He looked at his feet, avoiding her gaze. He felt stupid. 

“We won’t if we continue to just storm past everything that could give us more information”, Aurelia exclaimed, darting an angry look at Cerion, who had dozed off peering over his map.

Nalvor sighed. „Cerion means well”, he said once more. “He’s worried about our provisions and the trip back. He fears we won’t make it if we linger down here. And the Commander told him how desperately we need this artefact. He just doesn’t want us to fail.” The girl snorted in disbelief, but didn’t muster the courage to openly disagree with Nalvor.

“Tell me,” Nalvor said in an offhand manner as they sat there, “even if your notes survive this trip, do you honestly think they’ll reveal something? Think it’ll matter?” Aurelia gazed at him with those big, childlike eyes. “Everything matters”, she said stubbornly, and bit on one of the dried berries.

“You’re from Orzammar, aren’t you?”, she asked and without waiting for him to answer, she added: “What do you know about Gundaar and Hormak?”

Nalvor sighed once more. “Does it matter? I was servant caste, I’m not exactly what you’d call a prime example of dwarven knowledge”. A faint memory of a young boy with a mop of thick black hair running around his mothers’ skirts as they washed piles of white garments, flickered through his consciousness.

“Doesn’t matter. Tell me”, Aurelia insisted.

“Fine”, Nalvor sighed. “They were ancient kingdoms, just like that other one, Kal-Sharok, back before the darkspawn took over the deep roads. They were lost sometime after the first blight. That’s all I know”. He felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment and was thankful for once, for the dim light in the thaig. Never during their journey had he felt like an unworthier dwarf.

“These runes could add another sentence to that. Maybe several. Or maybe none at all, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’ll be reclaiming what was long forgotten. Making it immortal. And maybe, along the way we’ll even find out a thing or two, something that might help us with all sorts of things.”

“That what you Circle folk do?”, Nalvor asked.

“When we’re not setting darkspawn ablaze”, Aurelia answered with a smirk. That made Nalvor laugh. The girl is alright, he thought. She will make a fine warden. “So what do you know about the lost kingdoms?”, he asked.

“Little more than you, I’m afraid. Thing is, I had this colleague, back at the circle, Arlan. Though colleague may be the wrong word. He was my friend, and I… well, I do quite miss him, to be honest. But that makes no matter now. The thing is, he was obsessed with dwarves.”

Nalvor raised an eyebrow. “What, did he collect pictures of us?”

The girl looked striken. “No! Not like that! I’m no good with descriptions. He studied you. Your history, I mean. And your languages. He had this theory about the deep roads. Were you still in Orzammar when Kal-Sharok was rediscovered?”  
Nalvor laughed. “How old do you actually think I am?”, he asked, chuckling. 

“Oh Maker, I’m sorry! I just assumed… never mind! Arlan, he was fascinated by Kal-Sharok. By how they survived the darkspawn onslaught for so long. So he came up with this theory. According to him, there must be more dwarves, more survivors from the isolated kingdoms, scattered across the deep roads, severed from the rest of the world because of the darkspawn. When I left the Circle.”

“When you were kicked out”.

“When I. Left. The Circle. He asked me to study the deep roads. To gather enough information so that he could request an expedition. He wants nothing more. And he needs to get out of that tower. Go in the field. Work hands-on, not through dusty tomes and ancient scripts. He’ll be able to prove his theory right, I’m sure of it!”, the girl said.

“Please don’t tell me that’s why you joined the Order”, Nalvor said, worried. “What? Maker, no. I had no choice. It was the wardens or the headsman for me. If it were my choice I’d be in Tevinter right now, studying their magic. Not, well, here.” She gestured at the dusty thaig and Nalvor understood.

Every grey warden said things like that from time to time. Nalvor himself sometimes wondered how his life would have gone on, if he hadn’t donned the Grey. He had given up on foolish dreams of what-ifs and what-whens and instead preferred to stay focussed on reality. But the girl was new to the wardens and Nalvor was sure she didn’t yet realize what joining the Order really meant. She would learn, in due time. In the end, they always learned.

“What a strange idea”, he said, trying to sound interested. “Good luck with your studies, then”. Aurelia frowned. “You don’t believe it’s possible?”, she asked.

“Look, I’ve seen many things in my time. Dragons, darkspawn and archdemons. Spirits, demons and abominations. I’ve given up doubting things. But look around you. How could anyone actually live down here?” He gestured towards the pile of burnt corpses.  
Aurelia stared at the pile of bodies for a moment. “Look, I admit it would be difficult. Unlikely even. But not impossible. If Kal-Sharok survived, why not others? At first I’m sure there would have been enough food to salvage in the abandoned thaigs. There’s also enough deep mushrooms and deepstalkers to sustain a lot of people, down here. And the spiders too, I guess.”

“A diet off of vermin and mushrooms. Those poor sods”, Nalvor said. “Orzammar’s casteless eat better than that”.

“People can adapt to all kinds of conditions. If you’ve ever tasted the stew they served at the Circle, you’ll agree. I know the theory is a bit far-fetched. But not impossible. And Arlan has poured his heart and soul into this idea. I think he is right in wanting to study it”, Aurelia said.

“You’re probably right”, Nalvor said unconvincingly. “I guess I can see the value in that”.

“No, you don’t,” said Aurelia, upset, reaching for her journal once more. “Neither does Cerion. All you care about is that treasure. Dwarves have lived down here. They may still live here. But all you care about is some treasure”.

“That treasure may yet save your life, when the time comes”. Cerion’s voice sliced through the air like a blade. Despite his weakened state, half-sitting, half-lying in the corner, he radiated more authority than ever. “You’re not a scholar anymore, child. You were an outcast, a maleficar, bound to be put to the sword, like so many before you. Your former dreams and aspirations mean nothing, as do any old allegiances to former friends or institutions. You are a grey warden now. The only thing that matters now, is stopping the blight”. 

“And how exactly is this treasure going to-“

“Silence, shemlen! If you want to live through this, you will learn to obey your orders and hold your tongue. Make up for your passed crimes by serving the only order that stands between the people of Thedas and complete annihilation, or return to your Circle and the templar’s sword.” The green in his eyes was wild and angry, as he stared the girl down. Nalvor had never heard him talk down to a new recruit like that. It wasn’t like him.

“Cerion…“, he began, stupidly, but he didn’t know what to say.

“What?!”, the elf snapped at him.

“She’s just a child”, Nalvor said.

“I am no child!”, Aurelia protested.

“Oh are you now?”, Cerion said, staring her down once more. “Then stop acting like one! Now, does anyone have anything else to say?”

He paused, his gaze flickering back and forth between his companions. Aurelia looked like she wanted to argue further, but she was wise enough to keep her words to herself. “Then I suggest you stop prattling and find some sleep. Tomorrow will be trying enough. You can hate me back at Weisshaupt, for all I care. I need you focussed down here. Both of you”, Cerion said, catching Nalvor’s gaze once more.

* * *

They were Grey Ones.

Lyria was almost sure of it. The song of the Stone distorted them curiously, but they were undoubtedly Grey Ones. Sun-kissers, as her people called them. Lyria was not well-versed in the histories of the world. She was a ranger of her people, one of those bravest of the Sha-Lyuzar and had a different job. But the chanters would know, they knew what Grey Ones sounded like in the song of the Stone. Lyria knew the foul, dim sound of the foul listeners, the obscene shadows that were their thoughts. In some caverns their song almost overpowered that of the Stone. Lyria didn’t like it there. But these were Grey Ones, those fabled heroes of old, the only ones who shared her people’s plight. The chanters would reward her grandly. 

Yet she was held back. They were not proper listeners, even her lost kin had kissed too much of the sun to truly understand the song of the Stone. His senses were stunted and crippled, unable to reach out and listen. And they spoke in a language she didn’t know. How would she communicate?

Hidden in the darkness of the cavern, Lyria straightened herself up. The fire had faded and now the familiar darkness had returned to the cavern. She crept forward, slowly, hammer in hand, just in case. There was no more bright burning flame, to hurt their eyes. It was just the right time to reveal herself. 

She lowered herself to the floor, squinted, and moved closer to the sun-kissers. The lost listener and the smaller sun-kisser, the one who sounded like ancient despair, both wore the same symbol on their metal armor. The third, the female with the sizzling sound of power upon her, wore a strange robe, similar to the chanters back home, though hers was made of strange fabrics. Lyria withstood the urge to touch them and tried instead to make out the symbol. Her heart skipped. She had seen it before. The feathery thing with the double-head. The symbol of the Grey Ones. She was sure of it. The sun-kissers were Grey Ones, there was no doubt. 

The chanters sought out the Grey Ones, that much she knew. They would reward her grandly. But more importantly, it was her duty. Her people needed the Grey Ones. They would help against the foul listeners. Help the people reclaim the rich caverns, where the Stone sang loudly. Even now, below her feet, she could hear to steady rhythm of the song of the Stone. It calmed and guided her. She would not loose it to the foul song.

Though she could not talk to the Grey Ones, the chanters would be able to. She could lead them to the People. She knew the way. Back and down, a turn here, a twist there. Past the caverns of the old empire and past the foul caverns, filled with stench, low and lower still, until they would reach her people, the Sha-Lyuzar. The ones who listen.

It all depended on her, she had to find a way to talk to the Grey Ones. She had to reach out. She had to try.

* * *

“BY THE PARAGON’S SOILED BREECHES!”

Nalvor startled awake within seconds. He had dreamed… what had he dreamed? It was all a blur. He remembered singing and a body, standing right above where he lay. Within heartbeats the others were awake and Aurelia had conjured a tiny ball of light that illuminated the scene with dim light.

“Nalvor”, Cerion said, suddenly concerned. “Are you alright?”.

Nalvor craned his head around awkwardly to look at his companion, gave it up as a bad job, and dropped back to the stone floor. His body was drenched in the cold sweat of bad dreams. “Just a nightmare”, he said. “I’ll never get used to dreams”. 

“Well I’m awake now”, Aurelia said, yawning loudly and stretching. “No reason to try to find rest now”. 

“Maybe we should just move on”, Cerion said. “The sooner we advance, the better”.

Aurelia shrugged. “Whatever you say, Ser.“, she said, her voice dripping with disrespect, though Cerion those to ignore it.

“All right,” said Nalvor, wiping the sweat from his brow and clambering to his feet. He gestured at the provisions pack, but Cerion shook his head. Another morning without breakfast then, Nalvor thought. Wonderful.

* * *

They were coming. Fear and indecision tumbled in Lyria’s thoughts. She hugged the stone wall. Back she moved, fast and silent. She aught to keep away from the Grey Ones and their fire, until she could decide what to do  
.  
She had felt him, her lost kin. When she had reached out to him through the song of the Stone. She had felt him receive her, though their connection was lost just as quickly as she had established it. Her lost kin preferred to be deaf to the song. So be it.

She was just ahead of them and they were coming around the curve of the cavern. Soon they would spot her. There was no shadow she could hide in, no small space she could hole herself up. After the curve the cavern ran long and straight. She could not run, either.

She was fast. But not fast enough. And she had stupidly forgotten to close her eyes, when the light shifted and she stared directly into the fire.

Her eyes burned. She squealed in sudden pain, and threw herself to the ground, letting her hammer thud on the floor. She had spent too much time in complete darkness, her eyes were hurting now, burning, burning so bad it almost made her cry.

* * *

They froze, mid-step. This time the sound was no muffled scream. It was soft, almost hissing, but it was too clear to be misunderstood. Aurelia’s ball flashed beams across the thaig, then the light froze on one spot, shining a pool of light on… on what?  
“By the creators!”, Cerion called out, the others stood gobsmacked and stared at the figure in the light. The elf’s voice had a strange, uncertain quiver to it.

The figure in the pool of light was small, smaller than Nalvor and gaunt. The skin was a sickly, maggoty white, with dark blue and purple veins running through it like small streams. Thin white hair framed the pale face. The lips were thick and luscious, but pale and colourless, like a dead person’s lips…and worst of all were the eyes. They were large, but without a pupil, and glowing like a lyrium vein.

“What is that?”, Aurelia asked with a trembling voice. 

“I think your friend at the Circle has a reason to celebrate”, Nalvor said he said, his voice hoarse. 

“That... is a dwarf”.


End file.
